


sandalwood and gardenias

by secondbutton



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Businessman Draco Malfoy, F/M, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Porn With Plot, Smell, TasteofSmut 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25560166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondbutton/pseuds/secondbutton
Summary: A balanced fragrance of sandalwood and something musky and earthy followed him like a shroud. Draco Malfoy smelled like a magical forest’s best kept secret. Like the moment following a storm when the sun peeks back over the clouds and living beings stop what they’re doing and pause to marvel at being able to roam outside again. It was a crisp top note with more robust undertones, and just a hint of sweetness. She thought she might love the scent if it lived on anyone else other than him.A submission to the Taste of Smut Fest 2020.Prompt: #12 — She always knew when he was approaching.Senses: SmellPairing: Draco/Hermione
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 18
Kudos: 251
Collections: Taste of Smut Fest





	sandalwood and gardenias

She always knew when he was approaching.

Draco Malfoy’s presence in her life was annoyingly ubiquitous these days and it seemed like her body had started to develop an instinct for when he was around.

‘Instinct? More like defense mechanism,’ she scoffed.

The first sign was always the tittering outside her office. Visitors to the Ministry had to check in now, so each department’s receptionist knew if someone was on their way before they even stepped into the lift. That had caused some trouble with the older lobbyists, who relied on their personal connections to Floos in the office, as well as with some employees who never kept record of who visited them and for what. Though many of her peers had injected some youth into the Ministry, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was still, for the most part, comprised of older wizarding folk who were resistant to change and happy to sit in their cushy jobs while not affecting any sort of progressive change.

The receptionist for the DMLE was a witch who’d held the position for almost thirty years. She was a widower and an empty nester, which meant that she tried to extract any ounce of entertainment that she could from her days at work. 

Unfortunately for Hermione, Agatha Macmillan considered Draco Malfoy to be peak entertainment.

The tittering usually consisted of Agatha claiming to the secretaries around her that she was enacting a “long game” of setting Malfoy up with her daughter. It always struck Hermione as a sort of vicarious dream of Agatha’s and she couldn’t fathom how any mother could consider Malfoy of all people to be marriage material. They usually stopped discussing the feasibility of such a plan a few minutes later, when the lift let out a sharp _ding!_ to herald someone’s arrival. 

The second sign that Malfoy was about to step into her office was the shine of his platinum blonde head. He’d grown a fair bit since their school years. He towered over the cubicles partitioning most of the department and was therefore always visible through the clear tops of her opaque office walls. 

She usually had several minutes between the time the lift dinged and when he actually appeared at her door. Malfoy liked to make his rounds at the DMLE, no doubt part of his post-war quest to ingratiate his family with the new power players in a world without Voldemort. What was so infuriating about it was that it seemed to be _working_. Draco Malfoy at thirty years old was undeniably charismatic and influential. He was the pureblood poster boy for making the general public believe that even the most archaic traditions and people could be brought into contemporary respectability. 

Hermione would resolutely keep her focus on anything but the bob of his head as he approached, even though that usually meant she read the same five words of whatever inane memo she was trying not to crumple in her hands at the time. 

The third sign of his approaching proximity was the smell.

A balanced fragrance of sandalwood and something musky and earthy followed him like a shroud. Draco Malfoy smelled like a magical forest’s best kept secret. Like the moment following a storm when the sun peeks back over the clouds and living beings stop what they’re doing and pause to marvel at being able to roam outside again. It was a crisp top note with more robust undertones, and just a hint of sweetness. She thought she might love the scent if it lived on anyone else other than him.

Once the hint of him made its way under the gap between her door and the floor, Hermione resigned herself to facing him. She took a deep breath to steady herself—a move she immediately recognized as a mistake because it just pushed the sandalwood and _Malfoy_ further down her lungs. 

Two sharp raps on the door had Hermione trying to clear her airways without breathing anything else in. She managed to plaster something other than a bewildered open mouthed expression on her face before acknowledging him.

“Come in.”

—

Stepping into her office always made him visualize entering a cloud of Granger. The office she’d earned a year ago along with her promotion to a Director role felt like an extension of the woman herself. It was tastefully decorated in warm tones with wood accents. The office smelled strongly of something sweet and floral he couldn’t name, and the scent followed the woman even when she left these walls.

She’d replaced the basic Ministry chairs with cushioned leather loungers. There was a charmed tea set in a corner behind her desk, with the teapot’s spout perpetually steaming. Plants were scattered across surfaces and against corners, tying all the separate pieces of furniture together and bringing a lively energy to the department’s otherwise tight-laced environment. 

“Can I help you, Malfoy?” her tone held no inflection and her gaze remained resolutely on the piece of parchment in her hand. 

“I’ll take some tea, thanks,” his smirk grew as he witnessed her eye roll. Nonetheless she flicked her wand and a cup and saucer levitated over to the edge of her desk. He took a seat on the lounger directly across from her and reached for the tea. It was the perfect temperature and sweetness.

“Memorized how I take my tea, Granger?” he crossed one of his ankles over his knee and shot her a self-satisfied look. He painted an irresistible picture and he knew it. The effect seemed to be lost on the woman in front of him though. Her eyes had moved from the parchment she was holding to the way he had comfortably sunk into his seat. Granger’s expression was carved with disapproval, her dark brows scrunched together, lips pinched tight. He stared at the latter a beat too long before her voice ripped through his focus.

“You’re slightly less intolerable when you’ve had some sugar.”

“Noticing my moods too, huh?” His smirk grew when she didn’t immediately throw back another barb in response. 

“Did you come here to ruin my afternoon or do you have something useful to say?” 

Draco took one last sip of his tea before setting it down, expression all business now. “I’ve secured us an appointment with Stokke.”

She sat up immediately. “When?”

He made a show of extending his arm and looking at his watch. Light glinted on the polished silver. “Thirty minutes.”

Granger shot up out of her chair. “Bloody—sod your tea time, we need to prepare, Malfoy!”

“Merlin, relax,” he held up a hand, palm forward, like one would when trying to calm a wild animal. She sat back down, brown eyes flashing with distrust as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. He tried not to internalize her clear disdain for him, though the twisting behind his rib cage said otherwise. 

Despite over a year of a mutually beneficial professional relationship, Hermione Granger never seemed to look at him as anything other than a thorn in her side. After the dust had settled from the war, Granger attended Muggle university and pursued a career at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She’d been clear about one of the major priorities of her tenure when she started: introducing the study and practice of law to the Ministry and Wizarding society. 

They’d crossed paths again once she started campaigning for legal representation during WIzengamot trials. By then, several things had fallen into place: Granger had established her status as a table-shaking maverick in the Ministry, a hand-picked cohort of lawyers had recently graduated from university, the Malfoy name had regained a bit of its credibility but most importantly, a lot of its wealth, and Draco himself learned how to finetune his cunning and ambition into savvy business strategies. 

The second he had read the headline about Granger’s new initiative, he summoned his owl. A week later, he sat in the same chair he was now sitting in, convincing her of how his knowledge of the archaic Pureblood circles that still gripped the Wizengamot would be an invaluable tool for her. She hadn’t seemed as convinced of the value of _that_ as she had been the value of his pockets. Still, it had been enough for her to shake his hand.

Whereas Draco had only initially seen this partnership with Hermione Granger’s crusade within the DMLE as a strategic move for his family and his business’ reputation, close contact with the woman herself have had the unforeseen effect of _attachment_. 

Hermione Granger at thirty one years old was bold, righteous, and unintimidated. An almost tangible strength radiated from her, one that empowered the worthy and daunted the weak. Sometimes in her presence, Draco didn’t know which one he was. He just always shot for the former and bluffed his way through when he felt like the latter. 

Right now he was feeling empowered. As one of the more conservative members of the Wizengamot, Stokke had been a particularly difficult ear to get. It took some coaxing, a lot of wheedling, and a nebulous agreement to take her niece to a gala one of these days in order to pencil himself and Granger into her meeting calendar. 

Despite what Granger thought of him, he didn’t like to leverage the “eligible heir of one of the most long-standing and affluent Pureblood families in Europe” card too often. It typically led to more complications than he could bear to sort out. The one exception was the DMLE’s receptionist. He needed to make sure he never had any issues scheduling a meeting with the woman.

He pushed his already budding plans to get out of taking Stokke _and_ Macmillan’s niece anywhere out of his mind as he reached inside his coat. “Here, wear this.”

Granger arched a brow as she held her hand out. He looped the gold chain, dripping with emeralds, around her wrist. His fingertips brushed against the soft underside of her skin and he suppressed a shiver, trying to distract himself instead with the glinting of the jewels.

“What’s this for?” She turned the bracelet over, eyes roving from her wrist to him. 

“Stokke’s family made their money through jewelry. Give her an excuse to say why hers is better than yours and the rest of the conversation goes much more smoothly.” 

“Hence your watch?”  
  
“You’re catching on, Granger.” He shot her a smirk. “Now, here’s how we handle Stokke.”

—

“Why are you even doing this, Malfoy?” she huffed out, embarrassed and feeling clumsy once she was back inside her office after that practically disastrous meeting. Despite reeling from her missteps with Stokke, she pierced him with a glare as he locked her door. She’d taken enough hits to her pride today and she wasn’t going to let him of all people see it.

“Are you serious?” He bit back. 

She crossed her arms and her fingers balled into fists as she widened her stance. “You heard me. What’s the point if you’re just going to concede all the ground we make?”

It was a reach and they both knew it. 

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose before responding, though it really didn’t do anything to suffuse his frustration.

“If I hadn’t averted your dreadful faux pas, this whole campaign would’ve collapsed like a house of cards,” he ground out, silver eyes dark. 

“We needed to get her on our side! She’s the key to reaching two more seats!”

“Getting into a squabble during our first meeting is not the way to get her there,” he took a breath before continuing. “It’s actually useful that we know what it is about your policies she opposes at this stage. The next time we talk to her we’ll be prepared.”

The monotone of his voice cut through the response she had been ready to throw back. She could hear the effort it took for him to say the words evenly. She ran a critical eye down his form, though internally she had to admit that he was right. 

If there was one thing that Malfoy had stressed during their whole time working together, it was that whatever timeframe she’d already neatly incorporated into her long term plan for her career needed to be doubled, if not tripled. 

Rationally, she knew that upending centuries of archaic structures wouldn’t be completed in one lifetime. But she couldn’t help but feel like there was a countdown flashing in the panels of her office walls, like a part of her had failed whenever she read about yet another unfair Wizengamot sentence. She didn’t have time to play Malfoy’s long game because the people that were depending on her didn’t.

Hermione had been working on this for the better part of the past decade. How much more time did everyone else around her need to catch up?

“You’re doing that thing.” Part of her knew this was a deflection, another part just wanted an outlet for her frustration.

“What are you talking about, Granger?”

“That thing where you say and do exactly the right thing to get what you want out of the situation.”

His hand moved away from his nose and he shot her an unamused look. “Did it ever occur to you that I can know you and know what I’m talking about without having an ulterior motive?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. Truth be told, he had done a considerable amount to alleviate her distrust in him, especially in regards to her Wizengamot initiative. But she couldn’t forget the role that played in the resurrection of his family’s reputation in wizarding society, nor the support his business got as a result. 

“Isn’t that completely antithetical to your existence as a Malfoy?”

A look she didn’t quite have time to discern flashed across his sharp features before his expression settled into something cold and distant. 

“Perhaps. But not to my existence as a barely legal teenager watching society flip a coin to decide whether or not they’ll throw me into Azkaban.”

“Your father has managed to escape it multiple times for worse crimes, surely that wasn’t ever a true concern for you,” Even as she said it she knew the words had crossed a line. But she was just so _frustrated_ at her work being thrown back in her face time and time again and needed to punch back.

“Funny,” he said, voice and expression completely devoid of humor. “You’ll take on even the most lost of causes but you can’t fathom that a _Malfoy_ can change over the course of a decade.”

Shame gnawed at her chest but pride kept her mouth closed as he turned face out of her office, the heavy wooden door shutting emphatically with a click.

Hermione took the few steps she needed in order to collapse gracelessly into her chair and buried her face in her hands. Her mind brought up her memories of Malfoy’s trial—how gaunt he had looked, how deeply his fear and his reliance on his fight or flight response had settled into the furrow of his brow and the dark circles under his eyes. She knew because they all looked like that back then. 

Harry had testified on his behalf. In that limbo world right after the war when they were figuring out “what now?” Harry Potter’s word carried an incredibly significant weight. No one wanted to go up against him and be so drastically wrong again. Now she wondered if the coin flip that Malfoy had just mentioned would’ve gone the other way if Harry hadn’t made the choice to testify. 

If he had gone to Azkaban, what would their world look like now? She loathed to give the man too much credit, but Malfoy had established himself as a sort of trendsetter in modern Pureblood circles. He showed the stodgier families what was now considered _en vogue_ to do and say. 

As much of a believer as Hermione was in the power of law, she knew that it went hand in hand with cultural shifts in order to really make progress. Draco Malfoy, with his calculating perceptiveness, had approached her to influence both, apparently because of his own traumatic experiences. 

And she had just diluted that into simply part of his business plan to his face, after he secured and navigated one of the more difficult meetings she’s had during the whole process.

“ _Merlin_.”

There was something about him that made her feel like she needed to play defense. It had always been difficult for her to receive any type of help, especially with something that felt high stakes. The way Malfoy did things was almost never the way _she_ would do things. His way was so effective that it felt like she needed to justify hers.

‘ _But isn’t the fact that he’s actually been working on the initiative proof that he believes in ‘my’ way?’_ An annoyingly rational part of her challenged. She didn’t have the answer to that.

Regardless, she knew that she owed him an apology. Her stubbornness rebelled at the thought. It could wait until tomorrow, perhaps, when they’ve both cooled down a little.

She got up to pack her belongings, deciding to leave early for the day—her office still smelled like him.

—

Her peace offering ended up being her favorite quill and a stack of new talking points and policy ideas around Stokke’s objections. 

She sent it via owl the day after their argument and two days after that he responded with a thank you card along with his edits and feedback. Hermione could read the notes in the margins in his voice instead of the controlled monotone that had set her on edge, and she took that as a sign that he had accepted her olive branch of sorts.

Despite that, his visits to her office were uncommonly rare. After over a week without the shine of his platinum hair glinting in her department, her stubbornness caved to her good manners and she sent another owl explaining herself and directly apologizing for picking a fight. 

He responded back immediately. Apparently a major business opportunity had presented itself recently and he was preoccupied with negotiations. In regards to the apology, he accepted it gracefully, citing that they both wanted the same thing. 

A level of comfort opened up between the two of them once Hermione let herself believe that. His criticism was constructive instead of nitpicky; her retorts were witty instead of piercing. Their conversations transitioned from something she braced for to something she secretly anticipated because of their recent rarity.

A few weeks later, Malfoy helped her prepare for an interview with The Daily Prophet about the initiative via Floo. 

“I read the other feature articles your interviewer has written,” his silver eyes were downcast, probably skimming over his notes. Even through the haze of the green fire, she could trace the sharp cut of his jaw. 

“Her narratives really shine when she’s covering a personal come up story. You can really leverage your background and your motivations with her; she’ll find a way to relate it to readers.”

She charmed her quill to transcribe and heard it scratching against parchment on her desk. It wasn’t for another half hour that he was done bullet pointing his takeaways. When they’re finished, she let out a long exhale and leaned back in her seat, grateful for the umpteenth time that she’d bucked convention and gotten comfortable furniture.

“Thank you, I appreciate you taking the time. I know you’re quite busy.”

“Gratitude from Granger? I really must’ve done well then,” He shot her a satisfied smirk. 

She let him have it, finding that doing so was much easier these days. “I seem to remember having already given you credit for our public opinion strategy weeks ago.”

“And I cherish hearing it each time you say it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite help the amused quirk of her lips. “I’ll cherish hearing you sing _my_ praises when this interview publishes.”

He met her eyes, stare unwavering. “Count on me.”

—

“You seem… less tense recently,” Harry told her over dinner. “I’m glad to see it.”

They ventured out into Muggle London once a month, trying a new restaurant each time. This month they were making their way through an adventurous, decadent sushi tasting menu.  
  
“Do I?” Hermione took a sip of her sake. “That’s surprising honestly—these days all I can think about is how much time I don’t have until the Wizengamot session for my initiative.”

“That one—so good.” Harry digressed, mouth half full of sushi, as he pointed to its identical twin on the plate between them. He swallowed before continuing and waved his chopsticks in her general direction. “You don’t seem so hectic or frazzled. You’re more in control. Things are going well, I take it?”

She took a deep breath—her body’s trained reaction to this question—before realizing that things really were falling into place. 

“Actually, yes,” Hermione picked up the piece of sushi Harry had indicated, chewing as she thought. Her interview for The Prophet went off smoothly, especially with Malfoy’s insights. She’d also met with Stokke again, and though she doubted she would ever completely see eye to eye with the judge, she certainly left that meeting much more triumphant than the first. She would never admit it, but work had gotten significantly easier once she stopped assuming that Malfoy wasn’t right. _‘Or trying to make me look out of my depth.’_

She recounted her reflections to Harry and was met with a raised eyebrow. “I always figured he was just protecting you.”

Hermione balked at that, eyes narrowed. “ _Protecting_ me? How?” 

Her best friend leaned in, “Shielding you from the worst hits by making the initial contact and introduction to your opponents and being your guard rails when you go up against them—that doesn’t sound like protection to you?”

“I can handle my own, Harry,” she protested even though his perspective made her mind run through her recent reactions with the man in question.

“Hermione.” He shot her a slightly exasperated glare. “You were just admitting that he’s right more often than not and is acting in your best interests.”

“Being good at his job and _protecting_ me are completely different,” she insisted. 

“It’s alright to admit that you see it, it’s just the two of us,” Harry goaded before raising his glass to her and taking a drink. 

“Regardless, I don’t need protection,” she resisted the urge to cross her arms, knowing that Harry would just pick that up as evidence to his point.

“No, you don’t,” he gave her a fond look. “But I do feel better about leaving you alone at the DMLE knowing that Malfoy has such a vested interest in your success.”

Immediately after the war, Harry jumped into becoming an Auror. When he told her about the choice, Hermione suspected that his desire to be an Auror was truly just the leftover manifestations of his martyr complex and Atlassian sense of responsibility. Her suspicion was proven correct when less than a year after she joined the DMLE, Harry left for a teaching position at Hogwarts, citing the realization that the DADA position was his true calling. 

“When did you become so pro-Malfoy?”

He shrugged. “Spending several years teaching traumatized Slytherins made me a little more empathetic.”

Hermione picked up another piece of sushi to give her some time to consider. Before she could voice her thoughts, Harry continued. “Look, all I’m saying is—now that you’re letting him do... “ he gestured vaguely, hand loose on the socket of his wrist. “Whatever it is that Malfoy does, your life is easier and you’ve gotten along better, right?”

She nodded, wondering where he was going with this.

“Just let it happen, Hermione. I mean, what’s it hurting?” 

She chewed slightly on the end of one chopstick. What _was_ it hurting? If her initiative passed then she really would need someone to advise her on strategy. Someone she could trust to complement and not impede her fast-paced, efficient team. 

But at the other end of that bargain was the dangerous realization that an agreeable Draco Malfoy was an _attractive_ Draco Malfoy. He was insightful, clever, and incisive. Now that she had stopped assuming his every word and action was a cover for malicious ulterior motives, she actually found herself wanting his attention.

Merlin, even just the internal admission shot through her chest like a lance.

“Message received, Harry,” she gave her best friend a small smile, despite the turmoil in her chest. He was just looking out for her, like they have both always done for each other. The rest of the dinner went smoothly and ended with them discussing which plate they loved the most. Hermione went home with the warmth of an evening spent with a cherished friend as well as a few questions she really needed to ponder once she was alone. 

—

Draco knocked on Granger’s door for the first time in almost two months. He pushed the memory of his last visit that accompanied it out of his mind as he heard her voice welcoming him in.

He’d told her that he was pursuing a lucrative partnership and that was why he’d kept their contact to owls and Floo calls. That was part of the truth, but he’d managed busier times at work while still making time to visit her before. 

Ultimately what kept him away was the shame that solidified in his chest after the last time he saw her. She’d looked at him with such disdain; the thousandth reminder that she would never look at him as anything other than who he was as a teenager. He couldn’t resist throwing something back at her. Draco expected her to remain the seemingly impenetrable wall that she had been up until that point, but then the next day her graceful owl made an appearance at his office. 

Since then she’d seemed to open up. His traitorous attachment to her, encouraged by even the slightest show of warmth, kept him in her orbit and went head to head with his sense of self-preservation. When he’d left her office the last time, he had finally been prepared to bury it. But now, he was in front of her again, with something not quite named but teasingly _mutual_ between them.

When he stepped in he’s hit with the familiar and slightly sweet scent that surrounded her. She stood up when he entered—a far cry from the distant attitude with which she had greeted him the last time he was in this same position. 

“Malfoy,” she gestured to the chair he usually took with a small smile. “Sit.”

He did so while she arranged their tea. When she was settled, he set the Prophet face up on top of her desk. He returned her smile with an indulgent smirk. “I’m here to sing your praises, as promised.”

She sat up straighter and her smile grew. His chest constricted seeing it directed at him. “Did your reading this morning then?”

Instead of dry sarcasm, she spoke with playfulness. He’d wondered if the tone of their communications over the past few weeks would translate in person and it seemed he got his answer. 

“Just doing my job,” he shrugged, shoulders steeped in feigned nonchalance. 

“You’ve been going above and beyond,” her eyes met his over the rim of her tea cup. He didn’t know if it was just a trick of the light, but he saw… warmth? in their brown depths. It was disarming, to say the least.. He opened his mouth, a sharp quip slow to launch off his tongue but there all the same—but she cut him off. 

“Just accept the compliment.”

He held her gaze. “Thank you, then.”

A new type of silence settled in between them. It wasn’t charged like the ones before, where one of them typically had to grapple with an uncomfortable piece of wisdom imparted by the other. In this environment, he could see why so many followed her.

When Hermione Granger looked at you like she believed in you, it made you believe in yourself.

He cleared his throat and pointed to the headline of the Prophet. “Your childhood anecdote about starting debate clubs at school, was that true?”

She nodded with a genuine, nostalgic smile.

“My parents would set up debates in our living room and take turns being the moderator or debating me,” He watched her expression turn thoughtful and remembered what he knew of her parents—that they had been in Australia since before the war. “I remember a particularly heated debate about the merits of ice cream for dinner.”

She seemed to snap herself out of the thought, clearing the faraway look in her eyes. “But I’m sure you didn’t just come here to listen to my stories. What’s on the agenda for today?”

They settled into a seamless rhythm after that, their teacups constantly refilled by the useful, comfortable magic in her office. When he left her office a few hours later, they both had the separate but similar thought that perhaps things had truly shifted between them.

—

Hermione gathered her scrolls and parchments, feeling the emphatic beating of her heart across every inch of her skin. She followed the flow of her staff out of the Wizengamot, and she knew when she stepped past the wide threshold that she could now finally let go of the weight of getting her initiative passed. She had done all she could.

When she got to her office she was surprised to see Malfoy leaning against her threshold, one leg bent at the knee and ankles crossed. Even from a few steps’ distance he was distractingly handsome, his lean frame sinuous and his silver eyes precise and observant. 

When he caught sight of her, his expression immediately shifted from cold indifference to rare delight. She sent her staff off to enjoy their evenings before walking toward him. He pushed off from her threshold as she stepped close and let her lead the way through the door. She set her scrolls down on her desk and he Transfigured two tea cups into glass tumblers before pouring them both a couple fingers of Ogden’s.

Instead of taking her usual seat she sat in the other armchair on the other side of her desk, mentally and physically making the separation between working and not. 

“Isn’t it a little early to be celebrating?”  
  
“Oh, once your initiative passes, we’ll have a gala for your supporters, show them what it’s like to be on the winning team,” he said flippantly, as if it were already decided.

“What’s that saying again, about counting your eggs before they hatch?” she responded with feigned nonchalance, though she accepted the proffered liquor anyway. 

“Even if it doesn’t pass today, it will pass tomorrow. Cheers, Granger.” 

She couldn’t help but give him a tired smile in the face of his surety and clinked their glasses together before draining her glass. The whiskey burned through her body, blazing a trail of warmth from the back of her throat down to her belly. It was technically after hours anyway—she and Malfoy had both decided that pushing for the last hearing slot of the day was ideal, so that if they ended up going over time there was no rush to accommodate another person’s schedule.

“Your work has been invaluable to getting us here,” the affirmations left her lips easily now. Over the past few months since the first meeting with Stokke, they had gradually made the transition from tense colleagues to friends. Sometimes, she’d catch him looking at her for a beat too long. 

Sometimes, she’d look at him back. 

_‘What’s it hurting?’_ echoed in the back of her mind, the four words reverberating more strongly each time she repeated them. 

Hermione took another sip before continuing. “I was thinking…”

“Always a dangerous situation,” he quipped with a smirk.

That earned him an eye roll and he chuckled in response before letting her finish her thought.

“I”ll need someone I can count on long term with this,” she cast a line out there. They hadn’t discussed what his involvement with her office would look like once the initiative passed, but when she thought about not having his guidance or presence around, a heavy stone materialized in her gut. “Think you can keep up?”

“Of course I can. But what’s in it for me?”

“Working more closely with a Director in the DMLE,” she said primly, though it was a cover for the intent behind her words. She remembered his motives and wanted him to know that’s why she believed he could do the job. “Affecting the change your teenage self needed, redirecting the course of Wizarding society as we’ve both known it.”

“Sounds like a casual week for Hermione Granger.”

She sent him a satisfied look. It was true.

“Honestly, I hadn’t considered otherwise. Did you think I would just leave you once the initiative passed?” He shifted in his seat so that his body faced her. His eyes drew her in, and sandalwood filled her nostrils every time she inhaled.

She shrugged, trying to infuse as much indifference in the gesture as possible. A few days ago she had the realization that she just might need him, but she wasn’t quite ready to admit that to the man himself. After his last visit to her office she was constantly distracted by thoughts of him, found herself wanting to share bits of her day or randomly inspired memories, like one shared their life with a friend. Or a lover. 

_‘What’s it hurting?’_ she would think when her mind drifted to him.

_‘What’s it hurting?’_ she would think when she would send him a late night owl to discuss a snippet of a book she knew they both read.

_‘What’s it hurting?’_ she would think when she reached between her legs, mind’s eye flooded with gray and platinum.

“Granger, at this point, I don’t think I could leave you even if I wanted to,” he interrupted her thoughts. Even in front of him she got distracted by him. 

Her hand stopped on its way to bringing her glass to her lips, struck frozen for a second once she processed his words. Malfoy often spoke in entendres, she noticed. He was able to mold into every situation because everything he said could be plausibly interpreted as appropriate and relevant. But there tended to be just the hint of a suggestion in his words—a thread that, if pulled, could unravel whole tapestries.

The small hope that had started burning in her chest when he looked her in the eye through the Floo and said “count on me” flared brighter. Emboldened by Ogden’s liquid courage rushing through her blood, she picked up the thread and _tugged._

“Why would you ever want to?” she leaned forward across the arm of her chair, eyebrow raised in a challenge. He sat stock still, posture tense as if he was readying himself to leap at any second, like he was at the starting line waiting for the countdown to finish. There was something indiscernible in the glacial gray of his eyes as they flitted from hers to her lips. 

“Usually my sense of self-preservation would have a ready answer for that, but it’s dead silent right now,” he leaned closer too.

“ _You_ should try being dead silent sometime, Malfoy.”

She didn’t know who it was that finally closed the agonizing distance between them but the next thing she knew, his lips were on hers and she was blindly reaching over to put her glass down on her desk so she could clutch the back of his head and draw him closer. 

There was no hesitation once their lips met, like their connection was the waving flag that signaled the start of a race. He kissed with the same measured intent that he did everything else, his teeth lightly nibbling on her bottom lip, his tongue following to sooth the slight pinch. 

She pulled on his lapel, eager to get him closer. Her hand drew him in until he moved off of the chair so that he was half kneeling before her, one hand on the nape of her neck and the other sliding up her hip to her waist. She deepened the kiss and swiped her tongue against the seam of his lips. He obliged her and let out a sound from the back of his throat when their tongues tangled together. 

Draco Malfoy tasted like whiskey and impending victory.

When they finally pulled away for air, she could see that his pupils were blown out, the ring of icy gray replaced by the desire in his pupils. HIs jacket was askew, one of the shoulders pushed off and back. His lips were red and puffy from her attention. She liked this look on him, she considered. Messed up, ruffled by her. A visual reminder that she threw him off his game as much as he did hers. 

“You make quite a convincing case, _Director,_ ” his voice was low, husky, and she shivered a little. “Perhaps we could negotiate my involvement somewhere more private?”

Hermione couldn’t help the chuckle that burst forth from her lips, a symptom of the giddiness that now suffused her. Why had she been standing in her own way when she could end her days like this?

“Of course,” she breathed out. He met her with a brilliant smile before standing up to straighten himself up and gather the Ogden’s and their glasses. Hermione rose too, gathering her belongings before calling her address out to the Floo loudly enough for him to repeat after her. 

—

Hermione’s heart froze during the two seconds it took for the Floo to flare up behind her. She stepped up to kiss him immediately once he passed through, impatient and eager to chase away her worries. Now that she decided she wanted him nothing was going to stop her. That was just her way.

He returned her kiss just as passionately, wrapping his arms around her even though his hands were full of glass. Whereas their first kiss was exploratory, this one immediately lit her on fire.

He pulled away from her for a second, head craning to look for a surface to deposit what was in his hands. A beat later his palms cupped her cheeks and closed the distance between the two of them again. One of his hands traveled from her face, down the column of her neck, and then his index finger trailed a line down the skin of her arm, leaving gooseflesh in its wake like a speedboat on the surface of the sea.

She broke the kiss this time, tugging on the hand closest to hers to lead him to her bedroom. 

“You’ve become quite the negotiator recently, Granger.”

“No more shop talk,” she pushed his outer layers off of his shoulders, admiring the width of them and the taper of his waist. “I’m shagging you because I want to, not because I’m trying to convince you to keep working with me.”

Hermione met his eyes as she said it. She needed him to know before they went any further. They were both so surrounded by hidden agendas, duplicitous intent, and cutthroat Ministry politics that it was hard not to feel completely swallowed by it, to extrapolate those defense mechanisms in every interaction they had with others. 

There was a recognition in his eyes when he nodded in response, the heat in his expression growing. “I want to too.”

Hermione smirked at that, riding the high of knowing she was about to get what she wanted. Her hands found the buttons and clasps on his clothing and shucked them down and off until he was stripped to his tented underclothes. The more layers she removed, the stronger his natural scent became. This close she could smell the different layers of it, the hidden and stable earthiness underneath the crisp top notes. 

“It seems you have me at a disadvantage.”  
  
“That’s how I like you,” shamelessly she let her eyes and hands rove over his body. She noted the scattered scars on his skin, the toned lines of his muscles, the way he held his left arm slightly behind his body. She gained no hesitation from being reminded of the brand of his skin—she knew exactly who she was inviting to her bed, after all—but that was definitely a conversation to be had. Later though, she decided. There were other things she wanted to preoccupy her mind with right now.

“But isn’t it more satisfying when we’re both evenly matched?” he leaned close to utter the words by her ear. His lips brushed against the lobe ever so slightly, the sensation sending a rippling effect from the point of contact all throughout her body. 

Hermione awarded him with a sultry smile and walked backwards to the bed, tugging him along until she lied on her back and he was sprawled above her. His hands deftly undid her closures. Flashes of gray, blonde, and pale skin crowded her vision, just like she had been imagining, alone, in this exact spot for the past few weeks. 

She was glad she wore something other than her usual cotton panties. Typically when she had a major case or hearing she would fortify herself by wearing underwear that made her feel bold and confident. Today her body was encased in a lacy, peachy set. The lines and cut emphasized her trim waist and the curve of her hips. She knew she looked delectable. 

“Do you always wear this to work?” His eyes drank her in greedily, flitting like a hummingbird, like he didn’t want to spend too much time in one place lest he miss out on another.

“Only on the big days,” she watched with smug satisfaction as his mind raced through his memory. 

“The meeting with Stokke?” 

“Oh, I was wearing a satin navy blue number that day.”

“Merlin,” his breath rushed out of him and his hands and mouth followed the trail of his gaze. 

He descended to kiss her neck, starting with where it joined her ear and laving his way down to the muscle of her shoulder and further still to the dip of her clavicle. Meanwhile one of his hands was charting a path down her sides, fingers teasing the outer edge of her breast through her bra and mapping the ridges of her ribs before gripping the flesh of her bottom and grinding their hips together.

It wasn’t long until he had her squirming and gasping under him. He was already hard in between them and she angled her hips so that he clipped against the most sensitive parts of her through their underwear. She reached behind her to undo the clasp of her bra before tossing it off the bed. Then one of her hands explored his skin, clutching whatever she could grasp—his upper arm, his shoulder, the side of his waist—and the other carded through the hair at his nape before pushing his head down to her now bare chest. 

Malfoy complied easily and caught one of her nipples in his mouth. She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped from her as her body bowed and her sensations were flooded with him. She wanted more and less of his touch at the same time. 

The hand that was cradling her bottom drifted to the side of her hip before dipping between her thighs and she opened them for him, eager to see what he was about to do. His fingers stroked against the fabric of her underwear lightly and she felt her inner walls clench in response. Her knickers were damp, they could both tell. 

Using both hands he shimmied the lacy fabric off of her. When she was bare before him, his eyes drank her in. His burning gaze blazed a slow trek down her body and she could see the rapid rise and fall of his bare chest as it stopped at the apex of her legs. 

“You’re stunning, Granger.” Her bare skin betrayed her flush and he sent her a smug smirk once he noted it.

He kissed his way up one leg, starting at the ankle, trailing up her calf, then dragging across her inner thigh. Anticipation built up in the pool of her belly, spreading with each pump of her heart. 

Finally, _finally_ , his lips drifted to her most sensitive parts, breath puffing against her wetness. She watched, transfixed as he pressed the flat of his tongue to her clit. Her body reacted immediately—her hips met his mouth and her legs crossed around his shoulders to keep him in place. Draco Malfoy’s silver tongue was useful for more things than one she discovered, losing herself to the fire he stoked within her.

He slipped a finger inside easily and she thought she might’ve heard a muffled chuckle in between her legs when her hips adjusted to help him get to the button of nerves nestled within her walls. Ever the quick study, the pad of his finger soon found the right amount of pressure to apply and she could feel her walls drenching his hand as he continued his ministrations.

Her fingers gripped the sheets under her as she rocked her hips against his face. He took it in stride, following the erratic rhythm of her body as pleasure thrummed through her. He really knew what he was doing, a faraway part of her mind noted even as the rest of her consciousness careened toward the precipice. It was almost like he was pouring light into her, and with each flick of his tongue and curl of his finger she grew brighter and brighter. 

He didn’t stop his attentions even after he pushed her off the edge, her hips bucking and unintelligible sounds flying from her throat. The light inside her burst, the rays of it piercing her nerves, leaving her body numb to everything but the ecstasy bouncing around her body like a pinball. 

Her legs flopped on either side of his shoulders once her orgasm passed. When she regained her awareness, she glanced down to find Draco looking at her like the cat that got the cream. She couldn’t help but return his smile after _that_ and she obliged his smugness by pulling him toward her so their bodies lined up and she could push his underwear off of him. Her lips scattered kisses on his neck and chest as she turned them over so that she was straddling him. 

“Should’ve known that you like being on top.”

“You haven’t even _begun_ to figure out what I like, Malfoy,” she bore down on him. Her slick center rubbed against his length but didn’t let him quite inside and he let out a stuttered groan at the contact. The sound spurred her on and she kept grinding against him, enjoying the feeling of him getting impossibly harder under her and the wild flashes in his eyes as he loosened his grip on his control. 

“Show me then,” he ground out in between harsh breaths. 

With that she teased the tip of him inside. He was girthy, she noted with a little awe. Of course Draco Malfoy would have a big dick. His entrance was unmissable even with how wet she was. He was patient below her, letting her get used to him and she slowly wrapped more and more of him inside her. His eyes were transfixed on the spot where they joined. 

_“Fuck.”_

His hands gripped her sides as she rolled her hips slowly. His angle was perfect and the push and pull of their bodies created a delicious friction. She lifted her gaze to his face. She liked watching the storm of feelings pass through his expressions. Typically his face was so guarded and any expression of emotion was a calculated display. There was none of that in him now though, just unadulterated passion and pleasure furrowing his brow and tilting his head back. 

“Show me what you like,” his voice was rough with restraint.

Hermione took the hands on her hips and placed one on her breast and the other one between her legs. He took the hint without much more guidance. The hand on her chest immediately cupped the weight of her and teased her nipple between two fingers. His other hand found her clit easily and made small circles that had her throwing her head back and relying on the strength of her thighs and core to stay upright.

She took what she needed from him shamelessly and he gave it to her freely. Despite his size he slid in and out of her without resistance, just the wet sounds of their skin slapping together. Her usually rampant mind was hyper-focused on just her and Draco and the connection between them. This was the culmination of their work, the progress they made for Wizarding society and also within themselves and each other. She wasn’t thinking about what she had to get done today or the conversations the two of them still needed to have. The only thing on her mind was how good he made her feel, how _free_. 

He filled her to the seams with light again and she careened off the edge with an unrestrained moan. A rush of wetness flowed from her and coated him as her muscles spasmed around his length. He didn’t stop fucking her even when her movements became jerky, just held her rhythm as best he could as she wildly rode her orgasm out on top of him. 

When she stilled again he flipped them over so that she was on her back. He held her open with his hands on the back of her thighs and started an unforgiving pace inside her, bottoming out on each stroke and sparking electricity behind her eyes each time he hit _that_ spot inside her. Faintly she recognized that unintelligible whimpers and words bubbled up past her lips but she was too far gone to care.

He was making noises too, anyway. Curses and groans fled his throat as he chased his own release. His body was tense above her. The lines of his muscles rippled under his skin in the sunset glow her room was bathed in, making him look like some sort of fallen angel partaking in earthly pleasures. He started to lose his crisp rhythm, hips stuttering as he got closer and closer to climax. It was almost too much, she considered vaguely as he filled her up again and again and again, though she swallowed him up greedily all the same.

He pulled out of her just in time. She felt the spurts of his pleasure on her skin and watched as his length throbbed in the air, still hard. She was panting, and so was he. The rapid succession of their inhales and exhales filled the space around them, and the feeling of ‘now what?’ started to descend on her. He must’ve seen it in her face because he swooped down to kiss her. There was an urgency in his lips and the way that his hands gripped her arms. She slowed him down, tongue coaxing and languid, when she realized why. 

He was trying to convince her to let him stay.

Eventually he adopted the relaxed manner of her kisses. When they parted he leaned his forehead on hers. She kept her eyes closed, willing herself to enjoy the quiet moment of intimacy between them and bat everything else away, at least for a few moments.

Eventually their heartbeats and breaths stabilized and he fell—still gracefully, despite the circumstances—onto the mattress next to her. He let out a long exhale and turned his head toward her, eyes searching her face. 

“Stay the night.” 

His eyebrows rose at that, still a little disbelieving even though he was lying naked in her bed. She’d need to assuage his worries enough to get his bravado up to its usual insufferably sexy levels. “Are you sure?”

She smiled at him—a soft, indulgent quirk of her lips as her hand found his. 

“Yes.”

—

Hermione Granger smelled like flowers. 

Not delicate, like the French _parfum_ that his mother favored, but sweeter. Pleasantly strong without being cloying. The smell of her was concentrated in the juncture of her neck and her shoulder and in the thick drape of her curly hair. 

After a night in her bed he was finally able to discern the fragrance that shrouded her. He’d woken up wrapped in a cloud of gardenia and plum, with a naked Hermione Granger tangled in the sheets. She had her back to him and his eyes traveled down the notches of her spine and across the smooth dips of her bare skin. 

Before he could help himself he shifted to kiss her shoulder blade. He was rewarded with the raise of gooseflesh and a soft mutter.

A beat later and she shifted to face him. Her eyes still held the last dredges of her sleep, though they were quickly making way for something soft and a little mischievous when she registered their compromising position. 

“Good morning,” there was a sense of fulfilled hope in her voice, like she hadn’t held out expectations to find him there with her but now that she did, she could admit her own relief.

He gave her a small smile, feeling the same way. “Good morning.”

She stretched and he watched the ripples of her body unabashedly. He still couldn’t quite believe this turn of events. When he’d posted up at her door the day before, he thought they would have a drink together and go their separate ways. He didn’t expect her to verbalize praise, or tell him she wanted him around long term, or kiss him. 

“Where’s your mind right now?” she interrupted his thoughts.

“I’m trying to wrap it around the fact that I’m here. With you. And that you’re currently naked.”

She chuckled at that and playfully peeked under the sheets. “You are too.”

He hummed distractedly and took one of her ringlets in his fingers. “We should talk about this, shouldn’t we?”

“We should. Later.” 

She craned her neck to kiss him, but before they could make contact, an insistent tapping on her window interrupted them. He pulled her close, intent on ignoring it, but she was already too distracted.

Hermione got out of bed and picked up a robe on the way to let the owl in. A Ministry owl, he noted, as he sat upright. She must’ve made the same observation because she hurriedly ripped the seal open. Her eyes flew over the parchment but her face didn’t betray anything. He watched her read, body tense, already mentally preparing for how to comfort and bolster her if it came to that.

She lowered the arm holding the letter, head bowed. She stayed like that for a few seconds and he started to pull the covers off of him when he heard her laugh.

“We did it!” Another laugh bubbled up from her throat as she ran back to bed to show him the letter. “We really, really did it!”

His mind, usually so quick to ready itself with words, was uncharacteristically blank as he found himself entranced from the sheer joy and sense of accomplishment radiating from her. He’d thought he knew her, because they grew up in the same school, because of the time they spent together, but the past twenty four hours had shown him so many new facets of her. All things he couldn’t wait to explore.

Instead of saying something he just tugged her close and kissed her, letting her excitement suffuse him. She grinned against his lips and wrapped her arms around his neck, fully leaning into it. When she pulled away she looked at him with so much admiration that his heart swooped.

“I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“And you won’t ever have to.”

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> first and foremost, i want to thank the taste of smut mods for doing such a wonderful job of organizing this fest! i appreciate y'all for inspiring me to write.
> 
> this is the first dramione i've written in probably over a decade, and the first time i've ever attempted to incorporate some plot with my smut. it was definitely a challenge, but i hope y'all enjoyed the ride along with me and please excuse any inaccuracies regarding ministry structures. let's be real, it was a backdrop to get these two to kiss anyway.
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated; feel free to "squeeeee!" in the comments with me. ❤（っ＾▿＾）
> 
> if you'd like to keep up with my writing, subscribe to my ao3 or catch me on tumblr: @kissingturians
> 
> until next time!
> 
> * * *
> 
> 💋 This work is part of the Taste of Smut Fest, a Harry Potter-centered fest dedicated to the five senses: taste, touch, smell, hearing, and sight. 
> 
> If you’ve enjoyed this work, please do shower our content creators with kudos and comments! 💌
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> [Please check out the fest's tumblr for more posts and updates](https://tasteofsmut.tumblr.com/)


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